


here with me

by 21 (thedisasternerd)



Series: the language of dreams [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bittersweet, I lied this is sugary sweet, I'm a slut for nostalgia what can I say, M/M, Memories, Nostalgia, Okay I was still lying this is like an amalgamation of sweet and nostalgic, Reunions, Soul Bond, Soulmates, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/21
Summary: Everything changes. He and Spock won't. They'll stay together for all of time and beyond that, twin katras curled up together among the stars, where they have always belonged.After all, Spock died and then came back to him, breaking his heart, and yet, mending it at the same time, with those lost, dark eyes.Jim got lost in the multiverse and, by some quantum leap, made his way back to Spock.They couldn't get away from each other, even if they wanted to. Life has tried, time and time again.And yet.
Relationships: James T. Kirk Prime/Spock Prime, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: the language of dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455325
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	here with me

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up three months late with a mug of earl grey that has wayyy too much sugar because HELLO, TESTS AND EXAMS*  
> hi  
> So I wrote a continuation. Please read the first fic in this series, otherwise this won't really make sense...  
> As always, my beta and bff, Charlie, is an absolute genius and I love them to bits. Tysm for taking the time to edit this! :)
> 
> Thanks and I hope you enjoy

> _I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell;_
> 
> _I would know him blind,_ _by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth._
> 
> _I would know him in death, at the end of the world._
> 
> * * *

_The clock glows softly behind Spock's head. **0341**._

_Jim sighs. His eyes adjust to the gloom slowly._

_The light of the city emanates from the window, a riot of neon - pink, white, yellow, orange, flecks of green. It plays across the room in splodges of colour that are the exact shape of the chinks in the curtains. A particularly bright beam of iridescence falls across Spock's pillow, making his hair a glow like a dark halo around his head. Stray strands of silky black spread like ink across the white pillow._

_In the three hours that they've been asleep, Jim's husband has somehow managed to hog all the sheets but at the same time tuck himself into the human's side. Jim tries to claim at least a corner of the duvet back - Spock's nose just crinkles a bit in his sleep. Jim can't help the chuckle that rumbles in his throat. He wraps his arms around Spock, sheets and all, and holds him tighter, the feathery locks of black hair tickling his cheek._

_Inches away from his own, Spock's eyes blink open. They're so open. Unguarded. His dark lashes cast sweeping shadows across angular cheeks. The sole behaving lock of hair curls across his forehead, above an upswept brow._

_"Jim," he whispers, voice rough from sleep. His eyebrows furrow a bit as he logics away the confusion. Jim just smiles. He can feel the skin around his eyes crinkling._

_Spock thinks for a few more seconds, his reaction time slowed down to an adorable level. Then, he reluctantly untangles his long legs from the duvet and drapes it over both of them before worming closer. His breath fans softly into the mere inches separating them._

_"Jim." he murmurs again._

_"Spock."_

_Chocolate brown eyes examine him, faintly amused. Jim quirks a smile in return._

_They stay like that. Breathing quietly._

_"We should get a cat." Jim says suddenly._

_Spock, whose eyes had fallen closed, even though Jim could feel the hum of his consciousness across the bond, opens them, slits of dark brown._

_"What shall we name it?" he asks, his voice laced with affection._

_Jim thinks for a moment. Outside the window, the lights shift slightly, colours shivering just a bit. He remembers the feel of a heavy book in his lap. The feeling of ancient paper between his fingers. The musty smell. The printed ink. Dark words on crisp, blotchy paper. Stories rising up in front of his eyes like castles in the sky, spiralling up. Seeing the events unfold, great sagas and the fireside tales alike. He remembers in particular an old tome, with a title embossed in gold onto the cover._

_"Peregrin Took would seem to be a suitable name for a cat, Mr. Spock," Jim says finally, and Spock raises an eyebrow._

_"I believe that is the name of a character from a pre-Warp Terran novel," he murmurs, shifting slightly. The duvet crinkles a bit._

_Jim hums in agreement, his hand rubbing languid circles into the broad sweep of Spock's back, feeling the lean muscles under the pads of his fingers. The half-Vulcan purrs slightly in contentment, his eyes drifting closed. Jim is tempted to reach slightly lower, but decides against it, afraid of breaking this languid atmosphere._

_Spock's breath hitches slightly anyway, making Jim smile and pull him closer, soft dark hair tickling his nose. He sighs, the soft spicy scent of his husband making his chest ache for some unfathomable, **illogical** , reason._

_He hears Spock make a soft noise and shift closer._

_Jim holds him tighter. He feels slender hands settle on his back, tracing patterns into his skin. It makes him smile, this endearing habit that Spock has._

_He falls asleep with the smile still on his face and his soulmate in his arms._

* * *

He's home.

That's the first thing Jim realises.

He hasn't opened his eyes, he doesn't know where the hell he is, doesn't even know what the bed he's lying on looks like. But the dull, pounding ache in his chest, that oppressive weight, is gone. He can finally breathe.

After a few seconds of shocked acclimatisation, he discerns a warm presence at his side, the soft inhale and exhale, a presence he would know deaf, blind, and paralysed. He can feel the quiet, satisfied hum in the back of his mind, the low beat of his heart, the core of his very soul. His nose is buried in smooth hair which still smells of spice and an odd sort of scent that he still can't identify, something so quintessentially _Spock_ that his throat closes up.

His chin is a bit sticky. He's drooled in his sleep; he wrinkles his nose, and attempts to wipe it off, but his movements aren't properly coordinated, and he succeeds only in waving his hand in the vague direction of his face. His next realisation is that his right arm is completely dead, and that he should probably pull it out from under Spock if he wants to keep it intact.

_Spock._

It feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs.

_Spock._

He repeats it, over and over and over, until it feels less like a dream, a fantasy, but real and tangible and there. He forces his eyes open, blinking blearily, and, sure enough, quiet and peaceful in sleep - that's Spock. The love of his life. He smiles at the thought.

He's changed.

There are wrinkles that weren't there before. His hair is a soft, silvery grey. He's thinner, bonier, but still beautiful. He will always be beautiful.

Jim finds that he doesn't want to know how long he waited.

He sits up as far as he can without dislodging Spock, then starts to gently extract his arm from under his sleeping husband.

Spock continues breathing deeply and evenly, surprisingly unaffected from the movement - he was always a light sleeper, attuned to his surroundings - long lashes still dark against his hollow cheeks.

Jim feels his heart skip a single, painful beat.

He manages to get his arm out and sits there, flexing his numb fingers and hissing as sudden, prickling pressure floods back into the limb. He kisses Spock's forehead, and finally takes a look at his surroundings.

The room is small, but has a high, arching ceiling. There's a window taking up most of the wall, the curtains still drawn back. Beyond the glass he can see mountains, stretching beyond the horizon, red sands sparking in the light of the twin moons.

A huge beast, a sort of cross between lion and a bear, is spread out in the corner, snuffling softly.

Spock still doesn't stir. Jim settles back down, throwing his other arm over Spock's side. Spock just keeps on breathing, as Jim presses his ear to Spock's back and listens to his slow, steady heartbeat.

* * *

They move back to San Francisco.

Their younger counterparts come to visit them, dripping wet from the sudden rain and happy, all over each other and panting from what they assure them to be racing each other through the streets of the city.

Jim finds his smiles to be bittersweet.

Bones drops by with them the first time too, grouchy and suspicious, muttering profanities under his breath as he chaperones the younger Spock and Jim; he claims that he's only there to "make sure they don't fuck on every available surface" (although Bones knows that it was never like that, not really), but there's an odd amalgamation of wonder and sadness when he looks at them all.

He continues to make weekly visits to make sure they "haven't made off to heaven with the angels" but he seems to enjoy sprawling in one of the apartment's squidgy armchairs (the ones that Spock enjoys curling up in) with a mug of coffee and long, winding complaints about the crew.

There's a smile in his eyes every time.

The whole crew comes round at some point, all seven of them crowded awkwardly into the small apartment. Arnaya makes excited noises and sniffs all of them. Bones eyes her dubiously but pats her on the head before she bounds off for Chekov, who's her favourite. Chekov laughs, a delighted, clear sound that makes everyone smile.

Everyone sits and drinks tea on the floor afterwards, except Spock, who sinks into the squidgy armchair, Arnaya resting her shaggy head on his knee.

* * *

They make one final journey, standing on the alternate Enterprise's observation deck.

It seems that in this reality humanity didn't go through a slightly awkward and clunky retro phase but stuck to the classic, sleek design for ships. The floor is a dull white, the walls too. This deck has no lights, or at least they're not switched on when the shields are down.

It's the Enterprise... but it really isn't.

Jim misses his girl. Spock does too.

They stand under the panelled glass, watching the stars of hyperspace streak past in long blue blurs. The ship whirrs around them, familiar as their very pulse.

He feels long fingers wrap around his own, slightly cold now, dry skin giving way to bone. Spock is pale now, paler than ever. Jim knows they don't have much time.

And yet, they have eternity.

Everything changes. He and Spock won't. They'll stay together for all of time and beyond that, twin katras curled up together among the stars, where they have always belonged.

After all, Spock died and then came back to him, breaking his heart, and yet, mending it at the same time, with those lost, dark eyes.

Jim got lost in the multiverse and, by some quantum leap, made his way back to Spock.

They couldn't get away from each other, even if they wanted to. Life has tried, time and time again.

And yet.

Here they are, standing, hand-in-hand, on another Enterprise in another reality.

Still together.

Spock smiles, small but poignant.

Jim can't look away.

_Always together._

**Author's Note:**

> I AM TOTALLY NOT CRYING SHHH  
> Please leave kudos and comments they give me life and a reason to keep writing :) 
> 
> I shitpost like the professional multifandom trash I am on Tumblr under the same username as on here. Go bug me or something ;P


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